Sorting…

I often watch the moon. It moves pretty fast, you know. Pick a reference point, stare at it for a minute, see how much it’s off… Tonight the moon was motionless. You were moving too fast. The stillness and reprive in the air were an affront whether you know it or not. So you leave me here, goodbye didn’t suffice. There was something missing that makes this feel doomed. Something in your tone: too trusting, too open. But simultaneously, rock hard, distant, and impenetrable. You were telling all of a very small portion of the story. Guys get close to you and fall in love, like you thought I was different. The sad part is that I’m not… Your words were a pick at a scab, hurting in ways you didn’t know. Love isn’t an option, I have no choice. I’m sure I’ll have nothing to show in the end but bad poetry.
I met you at the wrong time, you’re stuck down in it, and there’s nothing I can do. To heal it, I’d be running the gauntlet that you have no choice but to man, and I know I’d just be another casualty. And that would ruin it all. We’re the same, we hate the chicanery, but somehow we are attracted to people who crave it. So which one of us was drawn into the other’s? Problem is, I think I know. So, mercifully, you’re leaving, enforced hiatus. I’m not ready for you. It’ll be time for me to cool off. I’ve never been good with metaphor, so I’m just saying what I know. I need to get you out of my mind. My new mantra. Something to remind me of my priorities. And that’s the problem, this is just a symptom of where I am right now. Hopelessly grasping for anything real and true. Sequestered from health, normalcy, and truth, I’m cling to the hope of you. I need something to hold on to. I’m fucking desperate and alone, out of place, reminded of my failures by every face. I’ve hit bottom. And sure, it’s been a softer fall, but that doesn’t change my desperation to feeling. This is the first time in months that I’ve actually NEEDED a drink. The last time was the lastime I bottomed out and I promised myself it’d be the lastime. But don’t we always? Isnt it so easy to promise yourself that next time won’t happen, that nextime won’t hurt, only to find it’s nothing but words? I need to find some stillness, find some solace, find a place I don’t need to move on from as soon as I’ve gotten there. Shitty part is I was hoping this’d be it. It never is. I’m afraid it never will be. Why can’t I just let go? Be a good german, fuck the whore, love the virgin. Why isn’t it simple? Why isn’t it clear, why is the answer never here? Last night I thought it was too much coffee, now I realize, no it’s just you. Do I ever get the chance to do what I want to? And like with this thing, every last line isn’t the end. Can’t I fall in love again?